


Out with the Old

by anilad



Category: James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anilad/pseuds/anilad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Bond ever bothered to think about it, he would likely come to the conclusion that his professional relationship with his Quartermaster was a positive one. This wasn’t by any means a foregone conclusion; there were a number of MI6 employee with whom he did not get on. It wasn’t something he spent much time worrying about either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out with the Old

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-ed, so any and all mistakes belong to me. Enjoy.

If Bond ever bothered to think about it, he would likely come to the conclusion that his professional relationship with his Quartermaster was a positive one. This wasn’t by any means a foregone conclusion; there were a number of MI6 employee with whom he did not get on. It wasn’t something he spent much time worrying about either.

He had, however, compared the new Q to the previous one. The former Q had been an older man, with white hair and a querulous voice he’d often used to reprimand Bond for not paying attention. He’d loved to tell Bond about the merits of the latest gadget he was handing over to Bond, and he’d always seemed quite sad when Bond would return from a mission without one or worse yet - with a damaged item.

The new Q by comparison had almost no use for what he called “little toys”. From the modified Walther PPK on, he concentrated on the practicality of everything he gave to Bond. He almost seemed to expect that Bond wouldn’t return from missions with them either. His only response to a damaged or lost device was to quote the amount of money Bond was responsible for losing.

“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you should petition to have it taken out of my pay,” Bond had suggested once, finding himself amused by Q’s comments. Q had been in rare form that day, his normal composure absent, and he had muttered something under his breath as he’d turned away from Bond.

“What was that?” Bond asked, curious.

“I’d rather take it out of your hide,” Q threw behind him as he’d walked away. Bond hadn’t even enough time to make a rejoinder.

That was another difference between the new Q and old; Bond had never had an exchange with the old Q that left him feeling as if a point had gone in the other man’s win column. There were few people who could force Bond to acknowledge a loss; the former M had been one of them.

At any rate, it had developed into a habit that whenever Bond was at the home office, he would venture into the Q Division to visit, or ‘badger’ as some might say, his Quartermaster. Q was constantly immersed in work and irritated by Bond’s attempts to throw him off.

But it was more often the case that in attempting to distract Q, Bond found himself distracted. He could never leave someone alone who was so good at ignoring him. Apart from the fact that when Q did choose to engage it was usually with a clever comment that stopped 007 short, Bond’s counterpart also had a very diverting quirk.

As he worked, Q seemed to be constantly chewing on a pencil or worrying at his bottom lip. On those occasions when Bond found himself whiling away off time in Q’s lab, after a few quips, he usually ended up watching him work.

Sometimes Bond would bring paperwork along to work on, but often he didn’t even pretend to use that as an excuse. When Q occasionally looked his way, Bond would flash a smirk, attempting to pass off his interest as another way of bothering Q.

But truthfully, Q’s oral fixation was slowly driving him mad.

...

 

Sitting in Q’s lab one day, while Q seemed to be pursuing the end of his writing implement more aggressively than usual with his mouth, Bond found that his usual ability to dissemble had disappeared.

“Do you ever stop with that?” he asked, motioning vaguely toward Q’s mouth. “What did that pencil ever do to you?”

Q turned his gaze from the computer screen to Bond, giving him a surprised look, only then noticing that he had something in his mouth at all. He removed the pencil and frowned at the crunched up end.

“I used to be a smoker,” Q admitted. Bond was suddenly struck by the image of Q’s pink lips pursed around the slim cylinder of a cigarette.

“Hmm,” was Bond’s only response to that. Q looked at him, bemused by Bond without some witty quip. Something in his face must’ve been telling because Q continued.

“I quit only a few months ago actually, and I’m not completely off them, if you’d happen to be carrying a pack...” Q said wistfully, trailing off.

Bond quickly shook his head, and Q shrugged, looking back at the computer screen. Bond left the lab after that, not quite fleeing

The rest of that day and the next, until he was called up to M’s office for a briefing on another mission, he found himself pushing away images of Q’s mouth, with the pen in it, with his white incisors chewing at his bottom lip, or most damnably of all, with a cigarette that he’d never actually seen Q light up.

The mission took him out of the country for three weeks. Bond knew how to compartmentalize so Q was not his mind during at all.

Or at least not for any real length of time.

While he was away, he slept with three different women. The last one had no connection to the mission at all, but she wore a pair of black plastic rimmed glasses. When she made a move to remove them as they were undressing, he pressed his hand over hers to indicate she leave them on.

He also purchased a pack of Benson & Hedges on a whim at a corner store.

Bond refused to think of either of these moments as indicative of a larger problem.

When he returned from the trip, he went to headquarters for his debriefing with M. It hadn’t been a particularly complicated one as missions went so it didn’t take over long. As Bond was leaving M’s office, Moneypenny called after him teasingly, “Going down to see Q?”

Bond turned. “I am going to Q Division now, yes. Why do you ask?” he replied suspiciously.

She gave him a Cheshire grin before raising her eyebrows innocently. “I was just wondering. Looks as if you managed to bring your valuable equipment back with you this time,” she said, referring to the briefcase he held. “Making the extra effort for our Q?” Bond didn’t answer her and walked out, ignoring her laughter.

Q Division was a hub of subdued, busy activity. One of the techs, seeing Bond come in, gestured to a closed lab off to the side of the main area.

“He’s in there. Nothing explosive today, I think, you’re fine to just go in.” She didn’t bother telling him to knock. She knew better than that.

Walking into the lab he watched as Q, with his unruly dark hair and a rather horrible orange striped cardigan, bent over a table and took a pencil out of his mouth to mark a measurement on the grid paper overtaking the table. His ever present laptop sat off to the side.

Bond couldn’t help but notice that despite his otherwise ridiculous appearance, Q did have a very trim arse beneath his gray slacks.

“Did your grandmother pick out that hideous orange ball of yarn masquerading as a sweater?” Bond asked, attempting and succeeding, he thought, in achieving his normal bland tone.

Q unbent and turned in a single motion, looking remarkably unfazed. He frowned at Bond for a moment before gesturing to what Bond carried.

“Is that for me? Why 007, it isn’t my birthday for months yet,” Q drawled.

“You know me. Always ready,” Bond replied.

“And early,” Q quipped, before changing tactics. “So not a difficult mission then? Spent most of it on your back?”

“No more than usual,” Bond replied truthfully. Q let out choked out sounded that sounded like half of a laugh. His face softened from its early tenseness and he offered Bond a smirk.

“Well perhaps since you haven’t made off with more of our ever-shrinking budget, I’ll be able to work in a few more toys for you. Exploding pen still on the wish list?” Q teased.

“You know me so well,” Bond said.

“Well enough,” Q replied, “You can give the case to one of the lab techs. They’ll know what to do with it,“ dismissing him by shifting his gaze back toward the table he had been working at before. As he turned, he put the pencil he’d had in his hand back in his mouth as he turned his attention away from Bond.

Bond stared at him for a moment before walking out of the room. He did not pull the door shut any harder than necessary but it still closed with a hard snick as he failed to cushion it.

It was ridiculous how hard it was getting for him to resist the impulse to push Q over the nearest table and have his way with him.

...

 

A few weeks later Bond was coming into the office for a meeting with M. It was an early morning for him, very early at a quarter after seven. The previous night had been a late one and he barely slept. His intention was to spend the rest of the morning, and possibly afternoon, napping in his infrequently-used office after the meeting. He had a suspicion that Moneypenny had scheduled the meeting at this time on purpose, knowing his practice of strolling into the office at half ten or later.

He was walking up to one of the side entrances, the one that the smoking population of MI6 used as their own since it had a nice overhang that guarded against the rain, when he noticed a slim figure leaning against the building. Even at a distance it looked familiar. As he neared, he realized that it was Q.

“Morning, Bond,” Q greeted him lazily, his eyes half lidded with exhaustion. He was holding a cigarette and tapped the ash off the end with a practiced flick of his hand.

“Early, isn’t it?” Bond asked. Q was no more of an early riser than himself from what he’d observed.

Q shook his head. “Late, actually. Very, very late,” he said with a sigh. Bond raised an eyebrow at that and watched Q settle the cigarette in his mouth again to inhale.

“Thought you’d quit,” Bond said flatly. He was finding the reality of Q smoking in front of him to be even more distracting than the images his mind had conjured up.

Q gave him a half-smile as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, before pursing his lips into an ‘O’ to exhale a thin stream of smoke.

“Truthfully, I pinched this one from Lindsey.” At Bond’s inquiring look, Q clarified, “One of the lab techs. She keeps a pack in her desk, ‘for emergencies’, she says.”

“And this was an emergency?” Bond asked. Q shrugged.

“A long night, spent alone in a lab? Felt like enough of a reason. Lisey will understand,” Q told him, tipping his head back against the building and exhaling heavily. “But what about you? Surely this is,” Q looked down looked at the oversized watch on his wrist, and frowned at the face, apparently unhappy with what it was telling him, “an ungodly hour for you to be up and about. Shouldn’t you still be in bed with one of your women?”

Bond smirked. “Sadly, their husbands are all in town at the moment. I’m here for a meeting with M,” he told Q. He wasn’t sure why he’d even answered the question. Normally he would've just left it go with the deflection.

Q didn’t seem to notice the difference, he was staring at a spot over Bond’s shoulder and after a last puff on his cigarette, stumped it out and said, “Well, good luck with that. I’m off for the day.”

“So you won’t be back in later?” Bond couldn’t stop himself from asking. Internally, he cringed but was fairly successful in keeping his expression blank. Q shot him a curious look but answered seriously for once.

“No, I don’t expect to be back to this bloody mausoleum till at least tomorrow afternoon,” Q told him with half-hearted glare. ”So if you need anything from me, it’ll have to wait- unless it’s a real emergency.”

“Well, ‘til then,” Bond said and walked into the building. “Sweet dreams,” he called over his shoulder. He told himself not to look back but like Lot’s wife, he couldn’t resist. Q was shaking his head, but smiling as well.

...

 

For weeks or months, or if he were honest from the moment he’d met Q, Bond had been turning over an idea in his mind.

Since the beginning of his career, it had been obvious to him that picking bed partners from his colleagues was both detrimental and dangerous. A fling out in the field had much less impact. While he was occasionally attracted to people he worked with, he wouldn’t pursue it unless he’d determined that it was unlikely to affect him in the future. He’d learned his lesson from that.

Despite what some people at MI6 thought of him, Bond did not frequently act on impulse. On missions, every action was weighed for its risks and benefits. While it didn’t always work in his favor, he did have a good success rate for his missions. He trusted his own judgment- if he didn’t he wouldn’t be able to perform his duties.

But even if he wasn’t impulsive, it usually didn’t take him long to make a decision either.

...

 

Four days later, Bond found himself back in Q Division, looking for Q for the first time since the morning he’d seen him smoking outside the building.

It was late; most employees had already left for the night. Even in the R&D department, notorious for its long hours, only one other person was still around, and he looked to be packing up.

A faint light emanated from under the door to Q’s office, which was surprising. Q used his office only slightly more frequently than Bond did.

Bond opened the door without knocking and let it shut behind him. It was dim in the room; the overhead was off and the only light in the room came from a small lamp on Q’s desk and the screen of his laptop.

Q sat at his desk, which was also unusual. On those few occasions when Bond had caught him in his office, it always seemed as if the other man was in a state of motion, usually on his way out. He looked up as Bond came into the room, before giving him an inscrutable look and returning to whatever he had been typing.

“Agent 007,” he said, over the soft sound of his fingers going at the keyboard, eyes on his screen. “I haven’t seen you around the past couple of days.” Bond shrugged, before realizing that Q wouldn’t have seen the gesture.

“Yes, I was-” Q shut the top of his laptop suddenly and stood up. Bond stopped mid-sentence, waiting.

Q walked around the front of the desk and leaned against it, giving Bond a sly smile. “Did you come because you needed something? Or did you miss me?” Q asked.

Bond made a decision, the same way he would in the field, quickly marking the pros and cons. He moved directly in front of Q and put his hand on his shoulder, slowly sliding his hand around the back of his neck. Bond rested his thumb on the other man’s pulse point and looked at him directly, giving him a moment to make his own decision.

Q smirked at him and stood unmoving. The usual witty quip Bond might have usually made in a situation like this suddenly seemed unnecessary and Bond brought his mouth down to meet Q’s. Almost immediately, Q’s curved lips parted, and he moved closer so that their bodies touched in an almost straight line, mouth to hip.

Someone groaned at the contact, and Bond was surprised to realize that it was him. They were close in height and it felt as though all the heated areas in his body had connected with those on Q. The kiss shifted from light to frantic.

When Q pulled away, there was a wet sound as they separated. “I wondered how long it would take you to do that. I was considering pulling out a loli, see if that would get you to finally snap,” Q said.

“Oh?” Something in Bond’s heated mind clicked. “So all those pencils...” he trailed off. Of course, no one as smart as Q could be so oblivious, he thought. Q chuckled.

“After the first time, yeah,” Q admitted.

“Hmm, so I take it you have no objection to me doing this then,” Bond said, nipping briefly at Q’s lips before shifting his focus to the sensitive skin under the other man’s jaw.

Q was still for a moment, allowing Bond his way, before raising his hands to the creases at Bond’s hips and sliding his fingertips down into the waistband of Bond’s pants.

“My only objection would be if you stopped,” Q told him after a moment. Bond made a pleased sound against Q’s neck, causing the other man to shiver.

Q pulled the tails of Bond’s shit out of his pants, rucking up the undershirt beneath to touch Bond’s muscled stomach. His hands were cool against Bond’s heated skin.

Bond’s light grip on Q’s neck tensed, and he felt Q’s pulse quicken. His own, he noted, was also embarrassingly fast. He’d gone through whole sessions of coitus without it accelerating like this, much less what Q had achieved with some kissing.

For him this was practically chaste. He could change that.

Bond refocused his attention on Q’s mouth, delving deeper. He moved his thigh between Q’s legs. The hands Q had on Bond’s torso spasmed reflexively as Bond put pressure against Q’s groin.

“Fuck,” the younger man gasped out. Bond smirked into the kiss, but his amusement was short-lived when Q reached between them with a practiced hand to cup him. His clever fingers stroked through the fabric of Bond’s trousers. Even through the layer, the touch was distracting.

In his mind, Bond had assumed that he would be the aggressor. But each time Q was the one to escalate.

“You always seem to surprise me,” Bond muttered.

“Wouldn’t want you to get bored,” Q rasped. He seemed like he might say more but in the next moment Bond swiftly undid the button on Q’s trousers and reached into his underpants to touch the hot smooth flesh underneath.

“Fuck!” Q said again, louder this time.

“Shh, you wouldn’t want anyone to realize you were fraternizing with a 00. Anyone could’ve seen me walk in here,” Bond told him.

“We are told to help keep you happy. All of you have such delicate personalities,” Q said, tipping his head back. Bond tightened his grip and began moving his hand. He spoke over Q’s moan.

“You work hard to keep us happy do you? Have you ever done this with another agent?” Q shook his head, eyes closed as Bond used the leaking wetness to speed up his strokes. “You’ve never gone down on 005?” Q shook his head again, and Bond saw the muscles in his neck contract as he swallowed. “Never put your lips around his cock?”

The words and the little vicious twist on the last stroke set Q over the edge and he spilled hot all over Bond’s hand. Q sagged for a moment against the desk, eyes down, working to get his breath back, before looking up.

“So that’s what you’ve been wanting?” Q asked and dropped down to knees shockingly quick in front of Bond. He looked up and made a move to remove his glasses. Bond put his hand over Q’s.

“Leave them on?” Q asked seriously. Bond nodded. Q refrained from saying anything else. The look on his face was surprisingly gentle as he took Bond in his hand.

Q licked the head of Bond’s cock, watching Bond’s reaction, before putting his mouth around it and sucking.

Bond bit off a curse, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. Q took Bond in further, until most of his cock had disappeared in the plush circle of his lips. The mess of Q’s dark curls and the shine of his glasses were all Bond could see when Q had his mouth full.

It was everything Bond had avoided thinking about and seeing it in front of him as the sensation of Q’s wet mouth washed over him was overwhelming. He was embarrassed to realize that he wouldn’t last long and said as much to Q.

Q pulled off for a moment and looked up. The blue of his eyes was almost overtaken by his dilated pupils. Bond clenched his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. At the same moment he heard Q say, “Do it, James.”

“Christ,” Bond said and came on Q’s face.

The only sound in the room then was Bond’s harsh breathing, until Q laughed.

“Well, I guessed I asked for that,” Q said, shooting Bond a half-hearted glare as he moved back. Bond still felt raw and wasn’t sure what to do next. He watched while Q used the edge of his white button down to clean off his face.

“Thanks,” Bond said sardonically, referring to the mess Q was making of his shirt. He was unable to keep the breathless waver out of his voice, but he gave himself points for speaking at all.

“You’re welcome,” Q said with an insinuating edge to his voice. He looked down at his rumpled appearance. There was a wet spot on his trousers and the edge of his sweater, Bond noted. “Well, I suppose there’s no fixing this mess,” Q continued. He moved around the back of his desk and gave Bond a sideways glance.

Bond knew he needed to say something now or leave this relationship as much of a mess as all of his previous ones. More really considering the fact that he’d gone and seduced a co-worker. Although could he consider it a conquest if the seduction had in fact been two-sided, he wondered.

“So we’ll do this again?” Bond managed eventually, viciously hating how unsure he sounded to himself. “Perhaps we’ll manage to get our clothes of even, next time.”

“Who says there’ll be a next time,” Q said, briefly keeping a straight face. He couldn’t hold it long before giving Bond a rare, bright smile. “There’s a lot I’d like to do with your body,” Q conceded.

Bond came around the desk, closer to Q, and reached out for him. Q allowed himself to be folded into an embrace.

“I’d let you,” Bond said before kissing him.


End file.
